


Water from a Stone

by Rrismo



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Domingo deserves better, Jealousy, Lalo's a homewrecker, M/M, Nacho has secrets, Past Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23261827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrismo/pseuds/Rrismo
Summary: Domingo is alright with leaving before breakfast, he is fine with them keeping it on the down low. He likes Nacho’s distance, likes the scarcity of his affection. And just when Domingo’s successfully convinced himself that he doesn't even dare to get closer to Nacho anyway, he seesthis.
Relationships: Domingo "Krazy-8" Molina/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Domingo "Krazy-8" Molina, Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 26
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love Domingo, I love Nacho, I love Lalo. So sooner or later, there had to be an unapologetically self-indulgent fic about jealous tension between Nacho and Domingo, while Lalo struts about like the big smug cat that he is.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“Stop arguing and just do it.”

“No way, man!”

Biting down on his lower lip, Nacho gives Domingo that look he has never been very good at resisting. Nacho’s hands are holding on to the headboard behind him, his naked arms tense from keeping himself in place. He is sprawled out on his back in front of Domingo, all eager expectations despite the fact that they are already on top of each other, only the fabric of their sweat soaked pants separating them.

“The more you talk about it the more awkward this is gonna get”, Nacho says with a mixture of amusement and impatience. The way he adjusted his hips between Domingo’s legs sends a shiver up his spine.

This is kind of a regular thing. Not frequent, but it happens often enough. Domingo isn’t sure who started it, cause it probably happened after a night of partying when they were both too drunk or high to care. But it’s good, and every once in a while when they aren’t too tied down with errands for Tuco, they keep coming back. They have never really agreed on a time and a place, or a sign for that matter. Domingo just sees Nacho tilt his head in a certain way, or look at him like _that_ , and he knows. It’s just part of how well they know each other, know what they need, what makes them tick, when it’s time to go for the weak spots, and when it’s time to let go. 

This is new though. 

Domingo swallows heavily. “Ok, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He raises one hand, hesitates just the fraction of a second, and brings it down across Nacho’s face.

The smack rings through the room and Domingo can’t help but cringe. “Sorry, man”, he immediately blurts out. There’s a red bloom spreading over Nacho’s cheek, and Domingo clenches his jaw at the sight. “Lemme get something for that real quick-”

Suddenly, Nacho lunges at Domingo, grabs his face with both hands and pressed their foreheads together. “Shut up”, he hisses, and kisses Domingo so hard it makes him forget everything around him, inhibitions and worries and apprehensions.

-

The evening cold is already creeping in from the edges of town. The smoke of Domingo’s cigarette is illuminated by neon signs and the light coming from El Michoacáno’s store window. It’s about time to get back to the car, but Nacho told him to keep waiting, so that’s what he does, back turned towards the shop. It’s better to not give Don Hector any reason to suspect that he’s up to something.

And if Nacho tells Domingo to wait, he waits. If Nacho tells him to come, he comes. They aren’t favors anymore. They are commands, and they have to be obeyed. Every time Domingo does, Nacho avoids his gaze a little longer.

Nacho emerges from the shop with his duffel bag over his shoulder. He looks gorgeous, as always, alert eyes darting around the parking lot, strong shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt, with his slightly bowlegged walk that gives him a broader appearance despite his height, and that almost melancholic expression that Domingo used to be able to kiss away. He can't believe he misses Nacho being the cocky little bastard that he used to be, completely full of himself and absolutely convinced he's the smartest man around. Domingo feels a pang of pain at the memory. He didn’t always allow himself these thoughts, but now that it doesn’t really matter anymore, there’s no point in banishing them.

“Don’t think I’m not noticing you flake on workout”, Nacho says and throws him the duffel bag.

Right. Workout. They used to do that together every second Tuesday. It has been a couple of weeks. Might as well have been in a different life.

“Quit making that face…!”, Nacho says with an impatient tone when they are both in the driver’s seat in Domingo’s bus, parked out in the desert. Nacho’s kneeling above Domingo, bent all the way over him to avoid hitting the ceiling. It’s uncomfortable as all hell, but Nacho doesn’t want them to fuck at his place anymore, so they don’t.

Nacho raises an arm to brace himself against the car ceiling, and Domingo winces. Immediately, Nacho freezes. His expression, impassive as it is so often lately, shows a hint of strain. With sudden force, he drives a fist into the headrest, right next to Domingo’s face. “And stop flinching…!” His voice cracks with tension.

Domingo nods, and it only seems to make Nacho angrier.

-

Lalo is the third Salamanca breathing down Nacho’s neck now.

“Ocho Loco has been looking at you kinda strange lately, don’t you think?”, Domingo hears Lalo murmur to Nacho in the kitchen when he thinks Domingo is busy with the dealers. Or maybe he’s keeping his voice at the exact right volume that Domingo can just make out his words over the sound of Al Compás De Mi Caballo blaring through the restaurant. From the corner of his eye, Domingo can see Lalo leaning one stretched out arm against the door frame, effectively cornering Nacho. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, Nacho says, gently bats Lalo's arm away and gets back to his table, right behind Domingo.

The skin on the back of Domingo’s neck is prickling under the intense glare that Nacho is shooting him.

\- 

It’s half past ten, and Nacho didn't show up to their appointment. He said he needs this letter today, before noon, and if it’s that urgent, Nacho rarely fucks around. That he's running this late can only mean bad news.

Domingo flicks his unfinished cigarette on the sidewalk as he steps outside his car and walks up to the apartment. 

One of the girls lets Domingo in, the blonde one whose name Domingo can never seem to recall. The entire living room looks like absolute shit. The blonde girl throws herself back onto the couch, there’s a second one sitting on the ground in front of it who immediately gets back to twisting her hair into skinny, ratty looking braids.

Nacho is nowhere to be seen.

There is a voice wafting over to Domingo, and he follows the sound of it, hears sentence fragments like “almost killed me”, and “had to be punished”. That doesn’t sound good. He cranes his neck to look into the corridor and sees the bedroom door stand wide open, the way it usually never does. Domingo knows for a fact that Nacho is very particular about keeping it closed. Worry is starting to spread through his stomach like lead. Something is not right. But does he really want to find out? He violently shakes his head. Of course he does. If Nacho is in trouble, he has to help him. Nacho would do the same for him. Right?

His heart is pounding all the way up in his throat as he peeks around the corner into the bedroom. He’s steeling himself to see Nacho held at gunpoint, his safe turned inside out, money and papers and blood on the expensive floor. But what he sees instead is almost as bad. It’s Lalo.

Lalo. Fucking. Salamanca. Butt fucking naked. He’s lying in Nacho’s bed, one arm around an equally naked and completely tuckered out Nacho, whose head is resting on Lalo’s shoulder. Lalo's lips are brushing Nacho’s short hair, and his fingers are drawing languid circles on Nacho’s shoulder. And Nacho seems so fucking relaxed, the way he only looks when he got stoned _and_ fucked all night. There are fading, crescent-like bite marks all over his shoulders, his neck, and some around his knuckles. The sun is shining through the bright curtains, tinging the image into a soft and cozy light, and Domingo wants to set the entire goddamn place on fire.

Before Domingo can shut the door, Lalo notices him and smiles the most shit eating grin Domingo has ever seen on a man. “There something I can help you with?”, Lalo asks, and doesn’t even bother covering himself up. No, Domingo is sure he drops his right knee a little bit further to the side to grant him an even better view.

Domingo can see the flames, and he smells acid, and he thinks of boiling water. “I’m so sorry”, he whispers and hastily gestures with one hand that he’ll be waiting outside. While he closes the door, he hears Nacho shift against the sheets and mumble: “Who was that?”

A weight much heavier than the worry before pulls at Domingo’s stomach. He doesn’t even want to be there. It wouldn’t even be like this. Nacho never cuddled up to him like that, and that was fine. Domingo is alright with leaving before breakfast, he is fine with them keeping it on the down low. He likes Nacho’s distance, likes the scarcity of his affection. And just when Domingo’s successfully convinced himself that he doesn't even dare to get closer to Nacho anyway, he sees _this_ , and there is something biting its way through his insides.

He’s barely reached the living room, when he hears a clattering sound from the bedroom and fast, forceful steps coming down the corridor.

It’s Nacho, only in shorts and an undershirt, but not any less frightening in his fury. He grabs Domingo by the collar of his down vest and shoves him to the kitchen. The girls shoot them an apathetic glance, then they’re back to staring at the TV screen.

In the kitchen, Nacho lets go of Domingo, who feels his hands jerk up instinctively to protect his face. But Nacho doesn’t hit him. He just stands very still, right in front of him, hands on his hips, blocking the way out. “What the _fuck_ was that”, he hisses between gritted teeth.

“You told me to meet you an hour ago”, Domingo says, unable to keep the defiance out of his voice.

“Do you have any idea”, Nacho takes a deep, livid breath, “what kind of trouble you’re getting yourself into? You’re getting _me_ into?” He points back to the bedroom. “If Salamanca gets the wrong idea about you?”

Domingo avoids Nacho’s piercing gaze and wills his hands to stay at his sides. He knows how much Nacho hates it when he flinches. “I won’t tell anyone”, he says quietly. “You know that.”

“Yeah, _I_ know. But _he_ doesn’t.” Nacho takes another deep breath and shakes his head. He expected better. Domingo can feel the disappointment sting, and he doesn’t even know why he gives a damn anymore.

“Are you in trouble?”, Domingo asks. It should have sounded rueful, instead it comes out as scrutinizing.

The question has a weird effect on Nacho. He opens his mouth, like he wants to say something, the hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He looks to the side and takes a step back. There is something going on inside of him, but Domingo is getting tired, so tired of trying to squeeze water from a stone, of prying information from this blank face, and trying to read excuses into Nacho’s behavior.

“Cause it looks to me like you’re doing just fine”, Domingo says, and it finally sounds as cold as he feels.

Immediately, Nacho’s defenses are back up and he takes a quick, threatening step forward, closing the distance between them. “You think you know what’s going on? You don’t know shit, Domingo…!” He forcefully smacks his palm against Domingo’s forehead. It doesn’t hurt much, but it makes him flinch nonetheless. “And you don’t know me!”

Domingo has to fight down the anger bubbling up inside his stomach, and he says: “Yeah. Guess I don’t.” This time, he doesn’t avoid Nacho’s gaze like usual. Instead, he looks at him pointedly, cold, and tired, and he knows he isn’t being fair, but when was the last time anyone around here gave a shit about fairness.

And for the first time, Nacho wavers.

His arms fall to his sides and his shoulders drop. He slouches against the counter, making it clear that he’s not standing between Domingo and the door anymore. With a snap of his fingers, he holds out his hand. “Give me the letter and piss off.”

Domingo gets the folded pieces of paper out of his pants, shoves them into Nacho’s open hand and bolts. From the door, he can see Lalo stepping into the living room. He’s wearing one of Nacho’s bathrobes like he owns the place, his wet hair is still sticking to his neck, and the gaze with which he regards Domingo must be able to see right through the fabric of his clothes, through the tissue of his skin and his bones, right into his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has gotten a bit too long, so I decided to divide it into two chapters. Second one is already written, it just needs a couple of tweaks before it's ready to be uploaded. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts ♥


	2. Chapter 2

When they were teenagers, Domingo and Nacho used to talk about what their crib would look like, once they made it big. A huge window facade, big, open spaces and sweet art prints all over the walls, that was the idea. Not that Domingo ever actually thought about getting there. It was just a fantasy, like how you play pretend as a kid, how you want to be an astronaut or president of the United States in preschool, but then you grow up and realize that making music is your actual calling. And then your dad tells you you're not even good enough for that, and instead you end up moving furniture from one end of the depot to the other. At least that's what Domingo's life looks like.

Nacho on the other hand, the goddamn badass, of course he pulled it off. Every time Domingo comes over to visit, he has a hard time believing it. Aside from the heavy smell of burnt meth sticking to the leather cushions of the couches, it's like stepping into a different, a perfect reality. And Domingo doesn't begrudge Nacho his success. The only thing that doesn't stop freaking him out are the girls hanging around Nacho's apartment. One time he witnessed Lalo rolling shiny toys through the living room, making Amber catch them, playing with her like she is Nacho's house cat.

To say that Domingo is glad that the girls aren't around tonight is an understatement. Not that being around Lalo is that much more fun. He's suspiciously quiet about their… encounter one week ago, and Domingo should be glad about that. He knows he might just as well be dead in a ditch now. But he can see the way Lalo's gaze is drilling into him every chance he gets, and he knows he's not quite out of the woods yet. He's been thinking about getting himself a dog. Any line of defense between him and the next beating.

The other guys have left, Domingo has just gotten back from the john and wants to head home, too, when Lalo points to his jacket hanging over one of the chairs in the kitchen.

"Ocho Loco, your phone rang", he says and reclines a bit further into the sofa.

Domingo can't stifle a resigned sigh as he calls back. If his guys ring him up this late, it usually means trouble. "They want me to come over", Domingo says and hangs up the call. "Take care of some dipshit rattling their cage", Domingo says, and Nacho immediately gets up from his chair. "I can take care of it", Domingo assures, but Nacho is already out the door without even listening, leaving behind Lalo and a very frustrated Domingo in his apartment.

With a quiet curse, Domingo grabs his jacket and his car keys from the dining table, but Lalo's voice stops him in his tracks. "Leaving already?"

"Uhm, yeah…" Domingo only turns half way around to answer, and tries to sound as innocuous as possible as he adds: "Would be weird for us to stay while Nacho's gone, right? You want me to drop you off somewhere? Got my car parked on the other side of the block." 

"How about we grab a beer and you come here", Lalo says and pats the seat on the couch beside him. He has the other arm stretched out on the backrest and looks every bit the generous host.

Domingo doesn't even gnash his teeth as he gets a beer out of the fridge and puts it down in front of Lalo. The sooner he's out of here the better. He shoots the man on the couch a curt smile, then starts another attempt for the door.

"You really don't want to stay?", Lalo stops him once more. "Ignacio is cleaning up your mess, after all. I bet you want his report."

It's a good thing that it's so dark in the apartment, and that Domingo is standing with his back turned towards Lalo, cause he can feel his face contort into a grimace. He's already at the door handle, he should just excuse himself politely and get the fuck out of here. He reaches for the door, but doesn't touch it. It's the prickling feeling at the back of his neck that locks him in place. It's as if Lalo Salamanca is standing right behind him and his breath is ghosting over Domingo's skin, and Domingo can feel himself chickening out, again, just as he did at poker, and he hates himself for it.

Despite everything inside his head screaming to make a run for it, he turns around and sits down next to Lalo. Immediately he wonders why he didn't at least go for the other couch. But now he's here, and Lalo is right next to him, and he can't just change seats again, and it's getting hot under his collar.

"How long do you think this is gonna take?", Lalo asks.

Domingo shrugs. "Could be anything from half an hour to the whole night."

Lalo takes a swig from his bottle and props his feet up on Nacho's coffee table. The territorial display is about as subtle as if he had peed in every corner of the living room while locking eyes with Domingo. It would be laughable, if it wasn't Lalo Salamanca who's suddenly scooting an inch closer, face turned completely towards Domingo with what looks like interest. Domingo knows this gaze, has already been at its receiving end countless times. It's the lie detector all over again.

"I like getting to know my employees", Lalo says. One thing's for sure, Lalo's the first boss they ever had that arranged poker nights for the entire crew. Now the only question left to answer is whether that's a good thing. With the hand still holding the beer bottle, Lalo nudges Domingo in the chest. "And I don't know much about you."

Domingo smiles sheepishly and tries his hardest not to falter under Lalo's scrutiny. "That's cause there's not much to know about me", he answers diplomatically, and Lalo's smile freezes in place.

"Does Ignacio think you're not capable of taking care of your end of business?" There's a hint of a frown forming between Lalo's eyebrows, and Domingo doesn't like it.

So that's where this is going. There's another surge of frustration making Domingo clench his teeth, not at Lalo, but at Nacho. What was he thinking leaving Domingo under these conditions, alone with Lalo, under the assumption that he can't handle his own men. He shifts in his seat and kneads his hands in front of him. "If you want to know why Nacho does anything, I suggest you ask Nacho." _Great job, Domingo,_ he thinks to himself. _Be openly bitter about your ex… something towards the man who's the boss of both of you. That's gonna help your situation._

Lalo keeps staring, even as he takes another sip from his bottle. He's taken up on it, there's no way he hasn't, Domingo thinks, and there's the fear choking him up again.

"You know what I think?" Lalo squints his eyes and tilts his head. "I think Ignacio's playing favorites."

Domingo exhales a sigh of relief, just to tense up again as he realizes that Lalo thinking Nacho's protecting Domingo out of friendship might be even worse than if he just assumes Domingo is bad at his job.

"You think he's going easy on me?", Domingo asks.

"I think you mean a lot to him", Lalo clarifies, and Domingo's heart sinks in his chest. "You two are friends, right?"

With each passing second, Domingo feels more like a rabbit caught in the headlights. "Yep."

"Ignacio says you two go way back", Lalo says, his face turning pensive.

"Yep", Domingo repeats, trying very hard not to read the most terrible things into Lalo's expression. So he stares at the table in front of him instead, and continues cracking his knuckles.

"That's very sweet." Lalo's voice has dropped to a coo now, and Domingo is sure he's never felt this uncomfortable in his entire life.

Yeah man, Domingo wants to say, nothing sweeter than being left alone with a goddamn sociopath in your friend's apartment. Nothing sweeter than skipping work to be taken on a ride to get some easy money, really, you gotta trust me on this, Domingo, your dad is going to be out of your hair in no time, you'll be making so much dough you won't even have to drive that ugly ass green bus anymore, get yourself a Stratocaster, get out there, make some music, it's gonna be easy man, and before you know it you're lying on the ground in some grimy kitchen getting the shit kicked out of you over a couple hundred bucks by the guy who taught you how to whistle and who didn't even have to knock at your room door before entering, who shared his first cigarette behind the shed with you and who you trusted like no other.

Yes. Very sweet.

There's a moment of silence between them, and Domingo prays to god that Lalo will just drop the subject. But he knows that's not gonna happen. Lalo doesn't let Domingo's reticence deter him. Quite the opposite, he just keeps on staring with those dark eyes of his.

"Look", Domingo blurts out and finally turns towards the other man, "if this is about the other day-"

Lalo's face is split in two by a shrewd grin, the creases around the corners of his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

"I promise I won't breathe a word about this, to anyone!", Domingo pleads, wringing his hands.

"Yeah, Ignacio said you wouldn't." Lalo leans in even further. "He says you're a good boy."

Domingo makes a noncommittal noise. It doesn't feel as satisfying as it should, knowing that Nacho is still preoccupied enough with him that he keeps coming up in his conversations with Lalo. 

What Domingo hasn't noticed is Lalo's arm sneaking around the backrest, and now Domingo feels it resting on his shoulders, all warm and heavy, and he's being pulled in until their faces are uncomfortably close and Lalo murmurs: "But there's one question only _you_ can answer, Ocho Loco."

Domingo swallows.

"Did you like what you saw?"

If there ever has been a perfect time to get up and run until he coughs up his lungs and no one knows his name or face anymore, Domingo feels it's right now. He thinks he's saying words, maybe something like "I didn't see anything" or "No idea what you mean", but it might just as well be gibberish.

"Cause I think I saw something in your eyes for a moment there", Lalo keeps going, completely unimpressed by Domingo's attempts to defend himself.

"Yeah man, it was surprise, I was expecting something different, honestly", Domingo hears himself babble as he tries to free himself from the arm around his shoulders, but the gentle gesture is turning into a vice grip around his neck, and Lalo's mouth is directly next to his ear as he murmurs: "The smart move here would be not to run away."

Domingo immediately deflates. Lalo is right. Even if he runs, Lalo's gonna find him, probably with the help of Nacho, too. He should have ran away when he was at the door, he muses, but once more, he let Lalo play him like a fiddle.

"Alright, then I have a different question. It's an easy one this time, I promise." Lalo has put his beer aside and lets his free hand slide up Domingo's thigh. "Do you suck my dick? Or do I suck yours?"

The world shifts the slightest bit out of focus, and Domingo is sure reality just took two steps to the right and left him where he is, paralyzed and confused and with no idea how to regain even a smidge of control. 

"Careful, you only get one answer", Lalo says, but Domingo stays quiet, eyes blown wide open with shock. "Ah, I understand. You're scared Ignacio's gonna walk in. But wouldn't that just be fair?" Lalo's hand trails further upward Domingo's thigh, reaches the soft part where it connects to the body, and presses his thumb in. "You know you can just tell me to do it, it's no trick question."

Finally, Domingo nods, and Lalo gets up with one smooth motion, looming over him like an incubus for a moment before he drops down to his knees and begins undoing Domingo's belt buckle.

"You're gonna kill me, right?", Domingo manages to get out, voice strained and high-pitched, because it has to be the truth, this has to be what's going on, Lalo is looking for an excuse to put a bullet into his brain.

Lalo chuckles. He seems to be very amused by Domingo's panic. "I don't know if I'm _that_ good", he says. There is something curious in his gaze, which is glued to Domingo's face as he undoes his fly. Is he wondering what Nacho sees in him? If so, then he doesn't seem very impressed so far. More like a cat toying with an already half dead mouse.

There is a low rumble outside, the engine of Nacho's car, and tires squealing faintly as they turn on the dry pavement, but it might as well have been angelic choirs in Domingo's ears. He snaps out of his stupor and struggles against Lalo's hands, wants to get up, run, hide, never have to look Nacho in the eyes again.

"You don't want him to see you like this?", Lalo asks, and yeah, that's part of it, so Domingo shakes his head and shoves him away, and to his surprise, Lalo actually yields. He straightens himself, helps Domingo up and pushes him into the dark corner by the dining table. Lalo raises one finger to his lips and murmurs: "You're going to get your chance to leave. Until then, stay here and be quiet."

Lalo doesn't even hurry as he saunters back to the couch and flops down on it, the only thing in the entire apartment left illuminated and perfectly visible from Domingo's hiding spot. Damn these open spaces. Seconds later, Domingo hears the clicking of the door, and he presses his back further against the dividing wall. 

Nacho walks in, a dark silhouette against the living room light. He shrugs out of his leather jacket and throws it over the couch that isn't occupied by Lalo. "Is Domingo gone already?"

"Yeah, had to take care of some important business", Lalo lies without hesitation. "What's the matter with his guys?"

"Some skell thought he was getting cheated out of money. Needed a little authority and a decision", Nacho answers and regards Lalo on his couch for a moment. "And you're still here. I take it that means you want to stay the night."

"Gotta finish my beer", Lalo says and sloshes the content of his half empty beer bottle left and right.

Nacho kneads the back of his neck with one hand. "Mind if I get one for myself?"

"It's your house." 

To Domingo's relief, Nacho doesn't turn on the light as he walks over to the kitchen. As he opens the fridge, a dim glow falls over the counter, and Domingo fears it might be just enough to see him in his corner, so he backs away a little further. But Nacho doesn't turn around before he's closed the fridge again, a beer bottle in one hand, the bottle opener in the other. He plops down on the couch, right over Lalo's stretched out legs, and leans against him. The casualness of the gesture makes Domingo curl his hands into fists.

"I can make room", Lalo murmurs.

"Nope, it's fine." Nacho lets out a heavy sigh and reclines his head against the couch, showing off his throat to Lalo as if in a gesture of submission.

"Poor Nachito, out all night." One of Lalo's hands trace the back of Nacho's forearm, down to where leather straps hug Nacho's wrists. His voice is all soft and low, and Domingo feels his insides churn. "Don't you think Ocho Loco could've taken care of that?"

"Yeah, he could've done it", Nacho answers with emphasis. "Just wanted to play it safe."

"Hm", Lalo makes, and places a long kiss right behind Nacho's ear. He's doing it on purpose. "Did you really fuck that guy?"

Domingo's sitting in the dark, angry and helpless and his head full of ideas, most of which revolve around the satisfaction of stabbing Lalo Salamanca in the face with a rusty knife. It dawns on him in this very second that the smart move would have been to just sit down next to Lalo and act as if nothing has happened when Nacho came back. He's getting played _again_.

"What does that have to do with anything?", Nacho asks in return, remarkably unfazed, not even looking up from where Lalo's fingers are sneaking under his wristbands and pressing into his palm.

"Is he any good? I mean, I don't know, maybe he surprises you in bed."

As Nacho answers, his terse tone makes it clear that he's not interested in continuing this conversation. "None of your business, man", he says. Despite everything, Domingo can't help but wonder how he does it. What ace does he have up his sleeve that he stay so unmoved in face of Lalo Salamanca lurking and waiting for him to show the smallest sign of weakness?

"I'm just trying to figure out your taste", Lalo says, and puts his fingers under Nacho's chin, making him look at Lalo. "But if you don't want me to talk, you can always shut me up."

They kiss, and it's not the first time Domingo's seen Nacho kiss other people, but this is different, and he wants to look away, but he can't, because the way Nacho inclines his head as Lalo lets his thumb trace his cheek and down his jaw, down his neck, is so spellbinding, while also mortifying. Domingo's already guessed that he will never be what Nacho wants, but seeing it with his own two eyes like this is more akin to getting punched in the gut.

But Nacho doesn't even know he's there, quietly hiding in the shadows that only Lalo Salamanca knows he occupies, and isn't that the perfect fucking metaphor for how Domingo is feeling right now.

And of course there's no mercy to be expected from Lalo. So Domingo isn't even surprised when Lalo gets all up in Nacho's business and pushes him into the leather cushions with both hands.

"Careful, my beer", Nacho warns him and lifts the bottle over their heads.

"That's your responsibility", Lalo says with a grin and slides down to the ground between Nacho's open legs. He positions himself just a bit to the side, as if he knows that Domingo is drinking in the sight of Nacho splayed out on the couch with his chest heaving and sinking under eager breaths like a drowning man. Lalo's hands wander up Nacho's legs, moving the fabric of his black jeans with them. They palm Nacho's dick through his pants, making Nacho's breath hitch in his throat. It's a sight of absolute beauty, and there is rage swelling inside Domingo's chest, and jealousy, and fear, and gratefulness, and... wait, what? That can't be right, Domingo thinks, but it is. He's grateful, grateful that he's allowed to witness this from afar, and he's not quite sure who it is he's grateful to, but he also doesn't have the time to really ponder the deeper meaning of his emotions because Nacho leans his head back and looks at Lalo from under half-closed eyelids, and that's enough to fry every capability of common sense in Domingo's head.

Nacho reaches out and grabs the nape of Lalo's neck with one hand, lets his fingers trace upwards into Lalo's dark hair, tugging his head downward ever so slightly. Nacho lifts the other hand to his mouth, bites down on his own knuckles, and only then does he make a noise, muffled, and needy.

"I'm not putting in all this hard work for you to bite down your moans", Lalo admonishes him softly, with a grin clearly audible in his words.

Nacho complies and lowers his hand. On its back, Domingo can make out the same crescent-shaped mark that adorned Nacho's hands and wrists when Domingo found them in bed that morning.

There's the jingle of a belt buckle and the sound of a fly being opened, then the rustle of fabric, and Lalo's low moan as his head dives down between Nacho's thighs. Nacho's free hand reaches for the back of Lalo's shirt, fingers curling into dark, expensive fabric, and he spreads his legs further to grant Lalo better access.

"Just tell me how you want it, Ignacio", Lalo purrs quietly, and draws a stifled moan from Nacho.

"More", Nacho gasps. He reaches for one of Lalo's hands and drags it up his chest, and presses it against his throat, making Lalo choke him. His moans grow quieter, but more urgent, as his hips move all on their own, and Lalo lets Nacho push up against the friction until he comes, gasping from between gritted teeth and holding Lalo's head in place by his hair.

It's with surprising grace that Lalo gets up on his legs and leans over Nacho, kisses him senseless, until Nacho reprimands him: "Lalo", and then, softer, so fucking soft, almost yearning, again: "Lalo…!"

Lalo lets go of him, straightens his back and gets out his handkerchief to wipe his mouth with the face of a man who's just had a very tasty meal. Then he stretches his arms over his head. "You look tired, Nachito. Let's call it quits for tonight."

With eyes that barely want to remain open, Nacho looks up at him and says quietly: "Are you still going to stay for the night?"

Even from afar, Domingo can see an infuriatingly warm smile spread over Lalo's features. "How can I say no if you ask so nicely." Lalo holds out a hand to help him get up, gives him a playful little kiss and saunters towards the corridor. "You coming?"

Nacho doesn't follow him immediately. First, he's gotta pull up his pants, and also, something seems to have caught his attention. He picks it up from the coffee table. It's Domingo's phone.

Shit.

"What's that doing here", Nacho asks.

"Seems like Krazy-8 forgot it", Lalo says with a shrug.

A frown spreads over Nacho's face. Another disappointment. "I better take this with me or the girls are gonna dissect it", he murmurs as he switches off the light in the living room and walks over to Lalo, past Domingo who's still sitting in the dark.

"Maybe we should just ask him to join us next time", Lalo says. Nacho remains pointedly silent as Lalo sneaks one arm around his waist. They leave, but not before Lalo has thrown one last wicked look back into the shadows where he knows Domingo is hiding, like the bag of dicks that he is.

When Domingo leaves, it's cold outside. He wishes he didn't have to walk all the way around the block to get his car, what with how painfully his dick is straining against his pants with every step, but the driveway is already occupied by Nacho's and Lalo's cars. The cool night air does little to quiet his racing mind, the feeling of longing and anger. As soon as he's reached the car, he will have to beat off, shame and confusion be damned, and he already knows that he won't be getting the sight of Nacho out of his head any time soon, or the way Nacho breathed Lalo's name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was way too much fun to write. We'll see whether inspiration strikes again and makes me come back to these three at some point. In any case, hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
